


Moonlight Matchmaker

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Matchmaking, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21946936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Unable to leave his dearest friend behind when he ran from Amaranthine, Anders brought Ser Pounce-A-Lot to Kirkwall with him and Justice. Unfortunately, the damned cat adores Fenris. An enemies to lovers story in which the cat plays matchmaker, as told by Pounce.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris
Comments: 41
Kudos: 280





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to all! I was inspired by [ this ](https://hollyand-writes.tumblr.com/post/189380969497/uchidachi-if-anders-still-had-ser-pounce-a-lot) tumblr post, and decided to write a short story. It grew from a short fic to a multi-chapter story as I wrote, and it's been fun to write!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Anders was nervous today.

Ser Pounce-a-lot, Pounce to all friends, watched as his two-leg friend paced back and forth in their shared den before slouching over his workspace. Their den was small and smoke-filled, and it smelled of sick two-leggeds and the wet. Not the fresh wet of Amaranthine, crisp, salty, and cold. No, this wet was hot and musty and tinted with the taste of blood on the tongue.

The air was still salty, though. Anders made their new den here, near the sea where the two-legs ran back and forth, over water and onto land, there was always a steady supply of fish to be had. While Pounce missed their old den, a big stone rabbit warren that looked over the sea like a great big bird ready to dive in, Pounce missed the two-legs who lived there more. He missed grumpy Nathaniel who muttered under his breath but always let Pounce sleep on his fur coverings. He missed Sigrun and her gentle petting. He missed Velanna, who always knew how to move the bird-on-string so it looked like a _real_ bird. He missed Oghren, and how he slipped meat from his dish down to Pounce. Pounce missed the stern Warden and the way he moved the small nests about to chase the sun through the cavernous den.

At least he had his friend Anders, and Justice. He was different from the Justice he knew in Amaranthine, true, but Pounce knew him all the same. Justice rumbled when he talked, though his voice came from Anders’s mouth these days. But he still let Pounce sit on his lap, and he petted him gently, if a little stiffly. Anders still cuddled and cooed to him, even though he was always tired and sad. Pounce made sure to sit with his friend on those days, and he purred loudly to comfort him.

 _”It’s alright, friend. We’ll be fine here,”_ Pounce assured Anders, and even though most two-legs couldn’t understand him Pounce knew Anders heard him in his own way.

Pounce yawned and stretched before curling up in an empty nest. There were many empty nests in their den, but many two-legs would come in throughout the day and fill the nests up while Anders walked back and forth between the nests and the two-leg occupants. Whenever Anders was here in their den, he stirred strange-smelling brews in his pot above the fire, cared for the two-legs in the nests, and swept the floors with sticks. If he sat at his table, he scratched at the thinnest bits of tree bark with feathers and sticks. Pounce didn’t know the importance of this ritual, but he kept Anders company while he scratched and scratched.

Most days were busy, and Pounce was now used to several faces that made repeat appearances to their den. There was the big man with the bushy black beard called Hawke. Hawke was always trying to cuddle and hold him, which Pounce would allow for short periods before crawling out of his arms and trotting away. There was the smaller Hawke, Bethany, who liked to pet him right between his ears and scratch under his chin. The woman who wore something that smelled of metal and looked like the shiny back of a beetle would grumble before grabbing his bird-on-string and playing with him (she made the bird fly jerkily in the air, but Pounce knew it was the thought that counted). The stern, slender man with the pale hair stood in the shadows near the door and never stepped forward, never introduced himself, so Pounce let him be. The lady who smelled of the sea would scratch his back, and the woman who smelled of moss and copper would always let him sit on her lap. The short man with the fur on his chest always had some sort of treat in his pocket for Pounce, and the solemn man who wore a beetle shell as white as snow let him twist and wind around his legs as he walked, never tripping (much to Anders’s disappointment). When Hawke came with his many friends, their den was full of noise and life, and it felt a little more like Amaranthine, a little more like home.

But now it was quiet. No two-legs in nests. The sun set over the big salty ocean, and night had come over the towering forest of stone, where the dwellings rose so high they seemed to block out the sun. Pounce stretched out in his nest by the hearth and glanced lazily up at Anders. Anders was focused on his work, scratching that thin bark with a stick. Soon he would remind Anders that it was time to eat, and Justice would grumble while they all ate together. It would be a nice end to the day and a fine beginning to their evening. 

Pounce was looking forward to his supper of fresh fish and hopped off his nest to look out the windows and watch the sunset when the door slammed open. A distraught Hawke stood in the doorway, holding- was that the stern man? Yes, Pounce realized as he caught sight of the pale hair and the stench of blood filled his nostrils, that was the man who lurked in shadows, who rarely spoke and kept to himself. Pounce jumped off the windowsill and followed Hawke, the man, the tall woman, and the woman who smelled of earth and blood.

“Anders? Anders?! Maker’s Balls, you better be here, he hasn’t got much time!” Hawke bellowed, which summoned Anders away from his workspace and scratching stick. Anders emerged into the main room, obviously irritated to have been drawn away from his work.

“Hawke, what- oh Maker,” Anders sounded shocked. Frightened. Anders wasn’t so easily scared, Pounce knew, and if Anders was frightened… the two-leg Hawke was carrying was doing poorly.

“On the coast,” the tall woman with hair like fire said. “Bandits, one stabbed him in the side, then-”

“Did they fling him off a cliff too?!” Anders asked, and he sounded as snappy and angry as he did back in Amaranthine. Pounce leapt up into a bookshelf to observe the scene below. Anders had work to do, saving the quiet man, and Pounce knew he would be of little use here.

“Oh, let me guess. He jumped into the fray without looking again, didn’t he? Tits, Hawke, put him down on the cot and get him out of that armor! Aveline, help him. Merrill, you know some healing, follow me,” Anders ordered, and while he rummaged through the back with the woman who smelled like earth, the woman with fire hair and Hawke began to strip the solemn man out of his beetle-shell. The copper smell of blood grew stronger, and even from his high perch Pounce knew that this was grim. Anders did not often ask for help, he did not often snap and snarl- he healed. But even as desperate as it seemed, Pounce was confident that Anders knew what to do. Much like Pounce just knew how to catch a mouse or bird, or how to flip to his feet when falling, Anders knew how to heal what was broken.

Pounce kept watch as Hawke and the woman pulled off the quiet man’s armor, tinged red with blood. He was still on the cot, and the sound of his ragged, wet breathing was as unsettling as it was a comfort. The quiet man was still alive, but it was an unpleasant sound. The earth woman, Merrill, emerged from the back of the den, carrying a pot of boiling water and rags draped over her arm.

“Anders says we might as well get to cleaning up Fenris’s armor while he works,” she explained. “So he won’t be angry with us when he wakes up.”

“Anders can fix this?” The tall woman, Aveline, asked. “It’s- I’ve seen injuries, and this is… frankly speaking, he should have died on the beach.”

“If it were any other healer, he would die,” Anders said grimly as he dragged his bag of metal tools and other strange things out to the nest. “But he’s very tenacious, and I’m very good at what I do. I’ll let you know if I need help.”

The sun had long set and the moon hung high in the crow feather black sky when Anders stood up. He staggered to a bowl of water and washed his hands one final time, staining the water pink with blood.

“Fenris is… Will he…” Hawke asked, and the big man, for the first time in Pounce’s knowledge, spoke in a whisper. Pounce walked along the top of the bookshelf and leapt down to a table, creeping closer to Hawke and the pile of gleaming, clean metal next to him. He polished the quiet man’s beetle shell the entire time Anders healed. As he approached, Pounce saw his twisted reflection like looking into a still pool of water. He spared the reflection a brief glance before returning to his original goal- he butted his head against Hawke’s side and purred reassuringly. He didn’t even meow in protest when Hawke picked him up and pet him. Hawke needed comfort. Anders was skilled at healing, true, but Pounce was an expert in comforting those in need. He purred louder as Hawke pet him and Anders washed and dried his hands.

“He’ll live. He’ll be pissy and wrapped up in bandages for the next fortnight, but he’ll live,” Anders replied. “He’s going to kill me, I don’t think I can salvage his shirt.” Anders held up a ragged black piece of cloth, stiff with dried blood.

“I can fix it!” Merrill exclaimed, and she snatched the fabric from Anders’s grasp. “It won’t be any trouble, it’s my fault that-“

“It’s no one’s fault but those bandits, Merrill,” the tall woman interrupted. “Not even Fenris would blame you for this.” She gestured towards the nest where the now-resting Fenris lay.

“You can all go. Eat. Sleep. Pounce, Justice, and I will keep watch, but you know Fenris. Nothing keeps the man down,” Anders assured them. Hawke rose to his feet, and while Pounce couldn’t see his face, the way the two legs shifted from one foot to the other told him that Hawke was as anxious as a young pup.

“You’ll be alright?” he asked. “I know you and Fenris-“

“I can handle it. He broke nearly every rib and got stabbed in the gut, he’s not going to be chasing me around the clinic,” Anders laughed. “Come back in the morning, Hawke. You can keep watch then.”

With that statement, Anders herded their guests out of their den. Merrill told Anders to expect the shirt tomorrow, “not as good as new, but better than when Fenris first got it, I promise!” Hawke promised to come back in the morning, and Aveline said something about paperwork before departing. The den was silent once again, and Anders staggered back towards the nest the quiet man, Fenris, was now sleeping in. Pounce followed, hot on his heels.

“Yes yes, I know, Justice,” Anders muttered as Justice’s familiar blue light flickered across his skin. “But they’re tired and Fenris is unconscious, we’ll pick apart the details of what happened in the morning.”

Pounce rubbed his head against Anders’s leg, and was gratified when Anders pet his head, even when Justice’s voice boomed out over him.

“You are tired. And you have not eaten,” Justice stated, blue light flickering across Anders’s face as Justice appeared. Pounce’s ears perked up at the thought of another meal, and he trilled at Anders, wondering if he could coax another meal out of the man (because Justice was not going to give him any extra snacks, no matter how much Pounce pleaded). Anders only laughed, and the blue light faded back into his skin.

“No, Pounce, you’ve had enough, you greedy beast,” Anders teased. “I’ll just have something small, then sleep. Healing all that was a lot more draining than I expected- yes, Justice, the lyrium helped channel the magic, but only down those paths. I had to fight it to get it to work how I wanted it to. Maker’s Balls, bastards did a number on him.”

There was a pause. Anders scoffed.

“Look, the damage was extensive. And some of it was _old_. He’s had previous wounds, they healed badly, and he’s going to need multiple visits to get back to a place I’d consider healthy. It’s no wonder he’s a grump. He has to be in constant pain!” Anders snorted again, and glared at the sleeping Fenris.

“You better not die on me and undo all my work. Hawke will never forgive me,” Anders grumbled. Blue flickered across his skin.

“And you would not forgive yourself,” Justice intoned, and even though Anders rolled his eyes in disbelief he did not reply. Instead he wandered into the back of their den. Pounce hesitated at the threshold that separated their den into two separate spaces: the public and the private.

Anders was tired. He was going to eat. He would be too tired to protest if Pounce stole a scrap of meat or bite of bread from his plate. Extra food was always appealing, and yet… Pounce looked over to the man in the nest. Fenris.

If anyone needed comfort, it was a man who was injured and healing. And he did not know Fenris as well as the other two legs who came to their den regularly. Pounce was always curious about visitors, and now was his chance to get to know this Fenris better. Food, or making a new friend? It was a hard choice.

Pounce wandered into the back den and leapt onto the table. If he was quick, he could snatch some food and then keep Fenris company. It was an excellent plan, and Pounce was quite pleased with himself for coming up with it.

After a surprisingly hearty snack of bits of cooked fish and chunks of bread he stole off Anders’s plate, Pounce wandered back to the nest Fenris was in and lightly jumped up onto it. The soft straw filled cushions gave way under his paws, and Pounce padded closer and closer to the two legs who was sleeping so soundly.

He was still, even when sleeping, his chest barely rising and falling as he slept. Dreamed. Did the two-legs dream? Pounce knew Anders did, but Anders was a clever two-legs and saw much. Most two-legs were clumsy, loud, and didn’t see. What would they even dream of? Did they dream of the tall grass and prey running from them, of warm sunshine and a cozy den? Pounce peeked closer at the man’s face- angular, strong, creased and worried looking even in the deep healing-sleep. His dark eyebrows did not match his pale hair, and he had pale stripes and dots on his face and neck.

“Trying to make a new friend, Pounce?” Anders asked. Pounce looked over to Anders, who unsteadily walked over to the nest and gently pet Pounce’s head as he looked down at Fenris. Two-legs were usually hard to read (they had no tails, how could anyone tell what they thought?!), but Pounce knew Anders, and Anders did not look happy right now.

“Don’t bother, Fenris hates everything and everyone on principle. No taste, that one,” Anders declared.

Pounce flicked his tail and settled into the crook of Fenris’s elbow. There was no two-legs, in his experience, who couldn’t be convinced to like a cat. Besides, he lived in a healer’s den and he had his own brand of healing to perform. Pounce kneaded into the blankets and blinked at Anders slowly.

“Ugh, you contrary little brat,” Anders snorted with exasperated fondness. “You come and get me if he takes a turn for the worse, understand?”

Pounce mewed. Of course he would fetch Anders if Fenris took a turn for the worse. Or Justice. Whoever woke up first, really. Pounce was not picky, and Justice would certainly wake Anders if he was desperately needed.

“Night, Pounce,” Anders replied with a yawn, and Pounce settled in to sleep as the sounds of the city at night drifted into the den. He dreamed of caverns and monstrous two-legs and the joy-ferocity-panic of the hunt. He dreamed of Amaranthine’s cold stone and warm people. He dreamed of mice and fish and sitting by a warm fire. He dreamed of a good pet and ear scratch.

They were all good dreams.

-

Pounce woke up to a hand stroking his fur along his back, steady and smooth and absolutely perfect. 

“Did you come to check on me, little tiger?” a tired voice rumbled from up above him. Pounce stretched luxuriously and yawned, and the voice chuckled. Ah, so that was what Fenris sounded like, Pounce thought. He sounded like the rumble of the sea, but muffled and soft. He had not known that before.

Pounce rolled over onto his side and looked up at the two legs in the nest. Fenris was not sleeping the healing-sleep anymore, obviously. He was awake, his pale hair mussed, and though he looked tired and ashen-faced he was awake. Healing. Anders wold be pleased, Pounce thought, and he purred with delight. They had done good work, hadn’t they? Fenris reached out and scratched under Pounce’s chin with a practiced ease- he must have been around cats before, Pounce thought. He knew _exactly_ where to pet.

“I am grateful for the company. Your friend healed me, didn’t he? I suppose you are keeping watch for him. Making me stay in bed,” Fenris teased, still soft and rumbly. The hand petting him stopped the perfect petting, and Pounce twitched and thumped his tail loudly against the blankets in the nest.

“Mrrow?” he trilled, half disappointed and half curious as to why the petting _stopped_. What could be more important than petting a cat? The petting, much to his delight, resumed. Yes. Good.

“Ah. My apologies, little tiger,” Fenris said. “I don’t have your permission to leave, do I?”

“You don’t have mine, either, you know,” Anders’s voice called out from the back of the den. He emerged, sleep-rumpled and yawning, and approached the nest. Pounce mewed with a delighted “mreeeeep,” and decided to ignore the way Fenris went rigid like prey wishing to run from a predator as Anders walked towards them. He stopped the petting.

“Is that an order?” Fenris asked. Pounce recognized the tone in his voice. It was the testiness of a creature who has had their territory invaded, and Anders’s own hackles rose in response to it. Pounce saw the way Anders’s eyes narrowed, how his walk grew stiff as he approached.

“Healer’s request, but you won’t get far in the state you’re in,” Anders retorted. “Come on, let me see your bandages.”

“Where is my shirt?” Fenris asked. Deflection. Pounce recognized that as well. They were prodding at each other, the way two tom cats prodded at each other when they wished to engage in a brawl. They were testing each other, looking for weak points: a bad eye, a limping paw, old injuries to claw open. But they weren’t fighting, not yet.

“Merrill’s repairing it, says it’s her fault it got dirty in the first place,” Anders said lightly. There was a faint flicker of blue across his hands, and Pounce settled back into Fenris’s lap. Justice would hold Anders back- it was bad manners to attack an injured foe, no matter how they insulted you.

“Foolish witch, she didn’t drive a dagger into me,” Fenris muttered.

“So I heard. Bandits, hmmm? It’s not often that anyone gets the jump on you,” Anders remarked, his tone inviting a challenge.

“A mistake,” Fenris retorted. “It won’t happen again.”

Pounce, quite sick of this two-leg display of dominance, extended his claws and let the tips prick into Fenris’s thigh. The petting resumed, and Fenris relaxed as Pounce purred loudly.

“My apologies, Little Tiger,” Fenris murmured.

“Pounce. Ser Pounce-a-Lot, on formal occasions, but we all call him Pounce for short,” Anders interrupted. “Bandages, Fenris. Let me see them.”

Fenris reluctantly dropped the covers, letting them pool around his waist while Anders poked and prodded. He continued to pet Pounce, and Pounce purred even louder to reassure him. Anders was trying to help, Pounce knew, but a healer could be frightening. It was good to have a cat around, to let a patient know that all was well. Also, Fenris was a wonderful lap to sit on.

“Ah. Pet ownership is not a problem with your… spirit, Anders?” Fenris asked as Anders examined the bandages.

“It’s… Pounce is family. We care for each other, in our own ways. Justice gets that, now,” Anders replied absently. “Funny, was certain you’d bleed a lot more freely. You heal fast.”

“It’s the lyrium,” Fenris recited dully, as if he had had this conversation before. Pounce recognized the exhaustion in his voice. It was the sort of tired sound you made when you wanted to sleep, but had a great distance to go before you reached a safe place to rest.

“It’s not the lyrium, had to fight it to get the magic to the places you needed it. The man who did this? Absolute bastard and a novice healer at best. He tried to make you a new circulatory system but for the aesthetic, and now I have to battle time and the lyrium to heal you!” Anders complained. “Hold still, I’ll change out the bandages for you.”

“I’m… sorry?”

“Don’t apologize, I’ll just happily rob the bastard blind for the trouble he’s caused me. And you. And all of us, frankly, I know he’s put a bounty on your head,” Anders muttered, blue lightning creeping up his skin as he unwrapped the bandages around Fenris’s torso.

“I see,” Fenris mumbled, and he said nothing as Anders unwrapped and changed the bandages. Once he was done, Fenris shifted and placed his feet on the floor. Pounce reluctantly slunk off his lap and settled into the warm blankets. It was not nearly as comfortable, but he made the most of it.

“I will go now,” Fenris announced, which made Anders snort and crossed his arms over his chest. Pounce didn’t need to see a tail to recognize Anders’s irritation. He was practically bristling with indignation.

“You will stay and rest,” Anders said firmly.

“I will do as I please, Mage,” Fenris nearly snarled.

“Oh, we’re back to that now?” Anders retorted, “We were almost civil, using names! But if that’s how we want to be, Elf-“

“Mreow!” Pounce interrupted. They were circling each other again, glowering and snarling and snapping, and someone had to put a stop to the fight and establish order. And as two-legs were terribly unreasonable, Pounce knew the task fell, naturally, to him.

“Fine. If you can walk across the room and back, you can wait for Hawke to come and help you back to your place. Otherwise, you stay for the day and rest,” Anders said. “And we try again tomorrow.”

Fenris glowered, stood up, stumbled, and fell back into the nest. He tried again. Fell again. The frustrated sound that tore out of his throat made Pounce flick his tail back in forth in anxious sympathy. On the fifth attempt Pounce crawled onto his lap and refused to leave. Fenris, he decided, needed much more healing, both in Anders’s field and his own. He was not fit to leave the den, not yet.

“That settles it! You’re staying,” Anders said brightly. “Pounce, keep him there. Want some tea?”

So that was how it was for the rest of the day. Fenris sat up in the nest as Anders walked back and forth from the back of the den to the front. Two-legs came in and out of the den, Anders spoke with them, and Fenris watched. Hawke entered and spoke with Fenris, and soon Merrill joined him and returned Fenris’s shirt to him. And all the while, Fenris continued to pet Pounce: rubbing his ears, stroking his back, scratching under his chin- perfection. While Pounce went through his normal routine, he was happy to return to Fenris’s lap and enjoy the way the man lavished him with attention.

As the sun fell and the moon rose outside, Pounce opened his eyes slightly and watched Anders walk across the den, and thoughts flitted through his mind like moths in the lamp light. Anders was alone. Fenris was alone. They may fight like territorial toms, but they listened to each other. Respected one another, even! Anders liked cats. Fenris liked cats (and was a divine petter, besides). Wouldn’t it be nice, and ever so practical, if the two of them spent more time together? Pounce settled further into Fenris’s lap and purred.

Yes. Quite practical. Sensible, even. Justice could not always make sure Anders wasn’t lonely, but if Fenris was around more often in their den, Anders would have someone to speak with. And Pounce would have access to more wonderful pets, which was merely an added benefit to this neat and obvious solution.

As the moon rose and the two-legs dreamed, Pounce plotted and schemed.


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris healed quickly, in a physical sense. Two days after he came into the den, weak and bleeding, he walked out with his head held high. And while Pounce was glad to see the two-legs walking again, his departure left him with a most unfortunate problem.

If Fenris was not in his and Anders’ den, Pounce could no longer enjoy Fenris’ petting.

It was a most serious situation, but when Pounce tried to inform Anders of this his two-leg friend sighed and rolled his eyes.

“No, Pounce, I am NOT giving you fish for dinner, it’s ham again or nothing,” he informed him. Once again, Pounce experienced the frustrations of two-legs not understanding the common tongue of the animals. With as much patience as he could muster, Pounce leapt up onto the nest Fenris occupied and yowled sharply to get Anders’ attention. Anders turned, and his eyes (the color of tree sap, of sunlight shining through the dying leaves of fall) fell on the nest and Pounce.

“He’s not coming back here unless Hawke brings him! Stupid man would rather bleed out in his wreck of a house than spend time here,” Anders exclaimed, and under his breath (as if he thought Pounce couldn’t hear him) he muttered.

“Don’t see why he’s got to steal my cat’s affections, the brooding arsehole,” and there was just enough hurt in that statement that Pounce made sure to spend extra time with Anders and purr loudly into his ear. Fenris may give perfect pets and be very respectful, but Anders would always be Pounce’s dearest beloved friend.

This would all be much easier, Pounce thought, if the two-legs had tails to communicate with. Words made everything more complicated, and (in Pounce’s opinion), two-legs never said what they meant nearly enough. A short tail wag conveyed more than any two-leg speech ever did. But as neither Anders or Fenris had tails, Pounce would have to help them learn to communicate. After all, Anders should not be lonely, and Fenris needed to spend time with healers like Anders and himself. But how to lure Fenris back to their den?

Pounce had a plan.

The next time Hawke visited the den and brought his companions, Pounce made his way through the people until he reached Fenris, who stood quietly in the shadows. He wound around Fenris’s legs, butting his head against Fenris’s shin and meowing loudly as the others looked over a piece of thin bark and talked loudly. Something something Wounded Coast, something something Templar patrols, something something two-legs business. Pounce had other tasks to tend to, and ignored the talking in favor of drawing Fenris out of the shadows.

_Come spend time with me, sit by the fire,_ Pounce pleaded. _Anders will scratch at the bark with his stick while the others talk, you will pet me, and we will sleep in the den!_ Fenris could keep Anders from being lonely, in a way that Pounce and Justice simply couldn’t. Anders needed another two-legs to speak to, another body to be around, and Pounce and Justice could not be that for him. And while there were other two legs who came and went, Fenris was… different. Anders fought with him, made him less sad and lonesome as they argued. All Pounce had to do was turn fighting into friendship, and that was easy enough. Anders liked cats. Fenris liked cats. A friendship could be forged from this, Pounce knew.

Pounce meowed again, and Fenris bent down to scratch gently behind Pounce’s ears.

“Hello, Little Tiger. Pounce. It is good to see you,” Fenris murmured. Pounce trilled and rolled onto his back. Fenris lowered his hand, closer to Pounce’s belly, and a little wriggle of delight wormed its way up Pounce’s spine- tummy rub, tummy rub, tummy rub!

“That’s bait,” Anders said smugly as he approached. “He’s about to eat your hand.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bait. Watch,” Anders ordered as he retreated, then returned with the bird-on-stick. Bird-on-stick! Bird-on-stick! Pounce’s ears flattened as he focused on the ragged bit of fluff and brown gray black speckled wren feathers at the end of the sick. Bird. On. Stick! Anders lowered the bird until it dangled temptingly above his paws. One quick boop and Pounce swatted and kicked at the bird in a play-catch-kill frenzy. As he darted about the room to chase the bird-on-stick and jump it, he heard Anders speaking to Fenris.

“He does that, y’know. One minute you’re petting him, he rolls over for a tummy rub, then BAM! Your hand gets scratched up,” he explained. “Cats can be like that. Their sense of play is just… different. Doesn’t mean anything by it, mind you, but he’ll get you if you don’t read him right.”

“Not unlike people, then,” Fenris replied.

“I… I suppose you’ve got a point, there,” Anders mused before handing over the bird-on-stick. “Wanna try?”

Fenris, superb pet master that he was, was not as skilled with the bird-on-stick. His movements were jerky. Abrupt. Stiff. Pounce settled into a crouch and waited for Anders to correct Fenris’ poor bird-on-stick skills. He was not disappointed.

“It’s in the wrist. Less rigid, a little more fluid,” Anders coached, taking the bird-on-stick back to demonstrate, which set off another flurry of swiping and biting from Pounce. “Never played with a cat before?”

“No. The ones at the manor are… aloof,” Fenris finally said. “I had not known cats could be friendly.”

“Strays, then. If you have a cat like Pounce that’s been around people since they were a kitten, they’re used to us. Pounce is a little fonder of people than most, truth be told, but he’s taken a real shine to you,” Anders replied, and he made the bird-on-stick twitch and flutter through the air. It wasn’t quite as good as Velanna, of course, but it was still fun to chase the ball of feathers and wool fluff across the floor.

“I see,” Fenris murmured, and he said nothing more. He watched as Pounce raced around the floor chasing the bird-on-stick. He watched Anders manipulate the bird-on-stick. Finally, when Pounce caught and chewed on the feathers of the bird, Anders stood up slowly, stretching upwards towards the roof of their den. Pounce yawned and stretched as well, for nothing quite matched up to a luxurious stretch of the muscles and sinew.

“Best get back to planning Hawke’s latest adventure,” Anders said awkwardly, the speech of a two-legs who wished to make amends. “Come and join us? You’ve apparently been drafted into helping him out.”

“I have nothing to contribute to these plans,” Fenris said shortly. Warily, Pounce thought. He did not need to see a tail to know that Fenris was planning to hide in the shadows again.

“But you’re going, aren’t you? You should be involved,” Anders retorted. “Besides, you’ve got more experience with Qunari than most, and we’re going to be chatting with a few if we head down to the docks later. Maybe you can give us some tips, a quick seminar on proper decorum?”

“Stay silent and cause no trouble in their camp, and they’ll let you be for the most part,” Fenris said abruptly, then he stood. “Which may be difficult, for Hawke.”

“So you’re joining us, then?” Anders asked.

“You have convinced me,” Fenris replied, and he and Anders walked to the back part of the den where the other two-legs (Hawke and the rumbling dwarf, Varric) were still talking. Pounce settled back down to the floor and chewed on the feathers of the bird-on-stick, pleased with his efforts.

Fenris and Anders spoke without arguing. Good.

Of course, this was only the first part of Pounce’s plan. He needed to lure Fenris back to the den, convince him to spend more time around Anders, and force them to spend time together. This part was harder to plan for. It required delicacy, patience, and knowledge that Pounce did not have. He had to learn where Fenris bedded down within this sprawling city. He had to find his den and bring Anders along for visits. If Fenris would not come to their den on a regular schedule, then Pounce would go to Fenris. All he had to do was find Fenris’ den.

Before Pounce could put this plan into action, the Templars (with their loud voices and beetle shell metal) began to stomp around outside their den, up and down the street at all hours. He, Anders, and Justice moved from their den to Hawke’s. Just until the Templars went away, Anders explained cheerfully as he packed away his supplies and loaded them into a cart so he could take them through the cave that led to Hawke’s. The people in Lowtown were good folk, Anders said, and didn’t need any more trouble that came with keeping Templars out of their hair.

“Only for a week or two,” Anders promised. “They’re not too fond of scuffing their fancy armor and getting muck on their freshly laundered tunics, they’ll leave Darktown soon enough.”

Pounce disliked leaving the den. It was warm. Familiar. Safe. But Hawke’s den was a comfortable dwelling as well, even if he was forced to share the nest before the fireplace with a dog. Bruce was decent, as far as dogs went, and a considerate companion after you endured one of his slobbery greetings. He also was a fountain of information, and chatty too. Bruce knew all the comings and goings in the neighborhood, where to find the best food when out in the streets, and, of course, the location of everyone’s den in the city. Thanks to Bruce, Pounce was able to put the next part of his plan into action.

Fenris visited their den many times. It was only right, Pounce reasoned, that Anders visit Fenris.

Pounce slunk out through the kitchens after greeting Darling Orana and receiving a gentle pat on the head and a crumbling bit of cheese as a treat. Once he found himself in the garden, it was only a hop over the wall and a little walk along the rooftops before he found himself at Fenris’ den. The smell of decay filled the stale, sour air. Under the scent of rot, Pounce picked up the sharp scent of fermentation, and under those smells lay the familiar copper scent of blood. There was the faint smell of other cats, strays, in the building, but it was old enough to not worry Pounce too much. He wasn’t invading any claimed territory, after all. He was only visiting. 

It was no place to build a den, Pounce thought as he dropped through a hole in the ceiling and poked his way down the stairs. Fenris would be much better off with him and Anders in their den, where they would make sure he was fed and washed and had someone to talk to and a cat to pet- Pounce wriggled his nose as a new scent, a surprisingly pleasant one, came to the forefront. Fresh earth? Pounce hurried down the rest of the stairs and followed the smell until he found his way outside again.

Fenris was there, poking at the earth with a stick of wood with metal clamped to the end. He paused and looked over at Pounce, and Pounce was pleased to note that he could read the complicated feelings on the two-leg’s face. Confused. Surprised. Happy, too. Pounce meowed loudly and swished his tail back and forth lazily. There he was! Did Fenris have any idea how hard he was to find?

“Hello, Pounce,” Fenris greeted him. “What are you doing here?”

As if it wasn’t obvious, Pounce thought as he rubbed his head against Fenris’ shin and purred. Foolish two-legs, Pounce was visiting him! Two-legs did it often enough, it really wasn’t that complicated. But as Fenris stopped poking at the earth with his stick of wood and metal in order to pet him, Pounce couldn’t be too irritated. He poked his nose into the freshly turned earth and sniffed. Sneezed. What was Fenris doing?

“Nothing hiding in the earth for you, little hunter,” Fenris murmured. “Only more dirt.”

Pounce lazily wandered the walled in area as Fenris resumed poking the dirt. It was still winter, though it was warmer than it had been these past few days. Soon the birds would begin nesting, and the mice and bunnies would emerge from their hollows, and the hunting would be good once again. Not that Pounce needed to hunt, mind, but he preferred keeping his claws and skills sharp. But as there were few birds in the bare branches of the big tree, and no mice or bunnies to speak of in the scraggly bushes, Pounce found a sunny corner of warm tile near the door and curled up for a quick cat-nap while Fenris worked. Pounce napped and waited, and as the sun hung high in the sky like a great angry eye, Pounce heard loud footsteps from the alleyway just beyond the wall. Pounce opened his eyes and watched as Anders’ dirty straw furred head popped over the wall.

“Fenris, did you steal my cat?” Anders asked. Fenris nearly jumped at the sound before he turned and glowered at Anders. Smiling Anders, Pounce noted, which was good. Anders had little reason to truly smile this past week. If Fenris could make him smile, keep him company- it was all following Pounce’s plan.

“There was no stealing. Pounce came to visit me,” Fenris retorted, and Pounce imagined that if he had a tail it would be twitching in irritation. Anders nimbly clambered up the wall and dropped into the garden.

“Of course he did,” Anders replied as he walked across the garden to approach Pounce, and there was a flash of blue across his skin, “No, Justice, it was a joke, Fenris is the last person who would kidnap a cat. Catnap? No, you see, the joke is that Fenris would never, so accusing him is a bit of silly- no, never mind.”

“Your… spirit,” Fenris spat out the word like a hairball, “has a problem with me?” Ah, Pounce thought. Fenris was posturing and ready for a fight, sticking up his fur and hissing. Anders was ignoring it, or, at least, he was pretending to. He walked slowly and with purpose until he reached Pounce. Pounce twitched his tail and slapped it against the tile. No fighting, he thought irritably. You’ve been doing well, no fighting!

“No, me. He’s angry that I’d accuse you of kidnapping Pounce,” Anders replied absently. “But no, my silly boy came to say hello, didn’t you? We’re staying with Hawke until the… you know, _mess_ gets cleared up in Darktown.” He crouched down to scratch Pounce behind the ears. Pounce slitted his eyes and watched as Anders cooed at him, and Fenris’ hackles slowly lowered. The frown on his face eased, the tenseness in his body relaxed, and Pounce watched as the flicker of something that seemed like a fond smile crossed Fenris’ face for one brief moment.

“That may take some time. I hear the Knight Captain is in charge of this investigation,” Fenris stated. Anders groaned and rose to his feet. Pounce stretched and wandered off to investigate Fenris’ smelly dirt piles- they smelled of leaf rot and fresh decay, like a forest floor. Pounce listened as Anders and Fenris talked, their words soft but easy for him to hear.

“Andraste’s Tits, Cullen’s always been thorough. Dots all of his i’s and crosses his t’s, that one,” Anders grumbled. He didn’t sound as irritated as his words implied, Pounce thought. Justice wasn’t rumbling behind Anders’ words, and there was no catch in his throat, no soft cry of sorrow at the thought of being away from the den. This was good, Pounce thought. He didn’t like being away from their den, their home, but if it meant staying safe and meant they could see Fenris more often… well, a hunter knew how to adapt to their environment and turn challenges to their advantage.

“Then you and Pounce will be staying with Hawke for some time,” Fenris remarked. He didn’t sound angry at the prospect. Good sign.

“Seems like it,” Anders replied. “Hawke and Isabela have been very considerate, lending me a room and all. And if you shove enough cotton wool in your ears you can barely hear them going at it.” 

“Charming,” Fenris retorted dryly. Anders chuckled and looked down at the dirt piles and the big stick Fenris held.

“So, neighbor, I’ll be around for a bit. Nice place you have here,” Anders said easily. “Airing out the earth, I see.”

“Yes. You garden?” Fenris asked.

“Was a farm boy, once,” Anders explained. “Sheep are my expertise, but Mum had a garden. A little early to turn the earth, isn’t it?”

“It’s warmer in Kirkwall. Sea winds,” Fenris retorted. “Less ground frost. Basil suggested an early start.”

Pounce flicked his tail in amusement and clambered up the big tree for a bit of light sport in chasing the birds. Fenris and Anders talked of earth and plants, fertilizer and growing seasons, the sun and rain and where to plant a fruit tree in a small space- much of which Pounce didn’t quite understand. But the two-legs spoke with enthusiasm, gesturing their hands, and soon enough Fenris found Anders another stick of wood and metal, and they both stabbed at the smelly dirt while talking. Sometimes Anders would say something that brought a flash of a smile to Fenris’ face. Once he made him laugh, a short, sharp sound that bounced off the walls. Anders was all smiles and jokes, and Pounce settled into the branches and lounged in the half- shade of the bare branches.

Yes, Pounce thought sleepily. All was as he planned.


	3. Chapter 3

Pounce took great pleasure in his afternoon walks about the neighborhood. There was much to see and much to smell, and he enjoyed paying calls to the neighbors. Hawke had many neighbors who were eager to give out good head pats and lovely little tidbits of food. The old woman down the street with the great big stone lion guarding her gates liked to coo and cuddle him before sending him on his way. The two-leg kits across from Hawke enjoyed brushing him, which Pounce tolerated in exchange for the delicious snacks (mostly cheese and apple slices). The two legs in the gardens greeted him warmly and offered their lawns up to Pounce’s inspections, inviting him to chase mice out of their dens should he choose to. Pounce would make his way through the neighborhood until he reached Fenris’ den, where he would nimbly leap over the wall and relax in the garden until the sun went down.

He would stay longer, of course, but Anders did not like to linger. Wouldn’t want to overstay, Anders would cheerfully inform Fenris, and without any ceremony he would scoop Pounce off the ground and carry him away. Not only was this terribly undignified, but it interfered in Pounce’s plans. He could hardly convince Anders to spend an evening with Fenris if Anders kept on running away! It wasn’t as if Fenris was a great wolf, or bear, or any other manner of fearsome beast. He was a two-legs with a rough voice and excellent petting skills, even if he still couldn’t play with the bird-on-stick. Entirely too rigid and formal, not like a bird at all!

But they were spending time together, and that was something to take pleasure in. Pounce luxuriated in the conversation and sunshine, and when Anders laughed at Fenris’ dry conversation it was music to Pounce’s ears. Even as the weeks passed and the sun grew warmer, and the beetle-shell men finally left their territory and he and Anders could finally return to their den, Pounce continued to visit Fenris. Which meant, of course, that Anders visited Fenris. Pounce should have been content with that much, but he was not one to let his prey slip away because he happened upon a patch of catnip. He only had to come up with a plan, and then set it into motion, and Pounce was very, very good at schemes.

It was a good thing it was the beginning of spring, Pounce thought with some glee as he navigated the streets up to Fenris’ den. He glanced up at the gloomy, overcast sky and twitched his tail in delight. Only the most sensitive of the two-legs could feel it, but Pounce felt the oncoming rainstorm stirring deep within his bones. It would start to rain before sundown, a heavy, unrelenting rain that would last through the night. He gracefully jumped up onto the stone wall before dropping into Fenris’ garden, then curled up on the wooden bench set against the wall. When Fenris walked outside with a large wooden stick, Pounce meowed a loud greeting.

“Ah. You’ve come to visit? Perhaps you can watch me and criticize my form,” Fenris said, and he sounded like he was teasing! Pounce merely bumped his head against Fenris’ palm, enjoyed the firm petting and ear rubs, and then settled back into his spot on the bench. He watched as Fenris twirled the stick around, jabbing it into the air as the clouds darkened and the smell of rain and lightning filled Pounce’s nose. Soon little sprinkles of water began to fall, transforming into great fat droplets until a flood of water fell from the sky in a roar. Fenris quickly escaped into his den, and held the door open for Pounce.

“It seems you are stranded here until your friend comes for you,” Fenris said after a moment. “Shall we find something to eat?” Pounce yeowled his approval- such a reasonable two-legs!- and followed Fenris into the place where he stored all his foods: the meats, the cheese, the delicious bread, the green things.

With a small bit of ham in his belly and a roaring fire to sit near, Pounce was content to laze about until Anders came for him. He would wait for Anders to come in, then dash up the stairs into the dusty smelling attic and hide away in the shadows so that Fenris and Anders would spend more time together. Then they would surely see how well they got along! They would realize that they were part of a pack, that they should be in the same den! It was all so clear to Pounce, he only needed to show them the truth! Their fighting had changed in these past shifts of the moon, shifting from bitterness to gentle teasing. Pounce would simply give them a little push and let what was there fall into place. Anders would no longer be lonely. Justice would be pleased with Anders’ happiness. Fenris would no longer stand in shadows and glare at the world. And Pounce would reap all the belly rubs and ear scritches, as was his due.

It was a perfect plan, but Pounce fell asleep too soon! When next he woke there was a pounding on the door, and light flashed outside of Fenris’ den. Fenris, who had been curled up in a large cushion in a wooden frame- chair, a large chair, Pounce remembered- leaped from his seat and warily approached the door, away from Pounce’s sight. But the door opened, and Fenris’ laughter was audible over the roar of the rainstorm.

“Did you take a swim before coming here, Anders?” Fenris teased. Pounce could hear the teasing in his voice, the lightness and warmth. It was like a butterfly landing on the tip of your nose, then fluttering away, inviting you to play in a game of catch-me-if-you-can. Pounce had always enjoyed those games of chase. Evidently Fenris enjoyed them too.

“Ha ha, very amusing, Fenris. Let me in, it’s fucking cold as a Chantry Mother’s tis out here!” Anders retorted. Pounce tried to roll to his feet and stretch and follow his plan (a perfect plan, truly) but the fire was warm and he was sleepy so he did not move. He eventually just flopped to his side and slapped his tail against the floor when Anders, soaking wet and dripping on the floor, approached him.

“You brat,” Anders grumbled as he crouched next to Pounce and pet his head. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“I would take care of him,” Fenris said. “He’s a guest.”

“I know,” Anders replied. “You’re… you’re alright, Fenris. Pounce likes you, he’s got excellent taste.” Pounce purred at the praise: he _did_ have excellent taste. Anders was right to say it.

“Coat off. Boots as well,” Fenris ordered, and as he approached Pounce noticed that he was carrying a towel with him. “You are also my guest, Anders, and I will not have you dripping on my floor.”

“Thanks,” Anders replied as he kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his jacket before laying it out on the floor by the fire. He took the towel and began to dry off as Fenris went away from the fire and towards the place he stored food. Pounce’s ears perked up, and he sniffed the air? More ham, perhaps? A bit of ham would be welcome, along with a good chin scritch. Anders provided the chin scratchings before returning to drying the fur on his head.

“You had me worried, Pounce. You never stay out when it’s raining. But I guess you were busy being pampered,” Anders teased. He slowly sat on the ground, joints cracking and groaning as he moved, and Pounce mewed. If Anders stretched properly, he wouldn’t be so stiff! Really, a healer should know better!

He’d pamper you too, if you let him, Pounce thought as Anders dried off by the fire. Fenris was excellent at pampering, and Anders could use a little bit of tenderness. Though it pained Pounce to admit it, there was only so much a cat could do for a two-legs. His work was hard and he did it well, but sometimes two-legs had to care of two-legs, and provide the things a cat could not provide. And Fenris would be a _perfect_ provider of pampering and companionship and the tease-fighting Anders needed. If only Anders could see that!

“He’s an alright sort, isn’t he Pounce?” Anders murmured as he gazed into the fire. “Once you get past the bristles and bared teeth he’s a good friend. Don’t let him know that, though, he’ll deny it.”

“Deny what?” Fenris asked as he returned to the main den and the fire. He had a basket of woven reeds in his arms. Pounce could smell the dry grass and, underneath it, a summer long past: the hot sun, the dark mud, the swimming fish and nesting birds- Pounce could smell all those things in the reed basket. Those subtle smells were nearly overpowered by the smell of leaves and sweet bread, but Pounce could still smell it. He also smelled a little bit of extra ham in the basket. Fenris truly was a fine example of a charitable two-legs.

“Anders? What would I deny?” Fenris asked as he sat near the fireplace, Pounce laying between them like a wall.

“That you’re a decent fellow when it matters,” Anders said easily. “Thanks for the towel. Mind if I stay until the rain lets up?”

“I wouldn’t have you walking out there,” Fenris retorted, and he began to unpack the contents of the basket. There was a shining metal tea kettle full of cool water and two beaten down metal bowls with handles- mugs, Pounce remembered. There was a tin that smelled of leaves- the two-legs did so like their leaf water. The sweetbread had a spicy smell to it, and that smell permeated the air as Fenris tore it in two. Then, lastly, Fenris set out a fine dish of diced ham out for Pounce. Truly a good two-legs! Pounce rolled to his feet and began to dine, which made Anders laugh.

“That dish is a bit fancy for a cat, don’t you think?” he teased. “I don’t think Pounce cares if he’s eating off a porcelain plate with gold leaf on it.”

“What else would I use it for? Collecting dust?” Fenris asked. “Sweet roll?”

“Thanks. I’ll set the kettle to boil,” Anders offered. “Always did that when I was on patrol.”

“Really? You do not speak much of your time with the Wardens,” Fenris said, and as Pounce ate the two fell into a discussion about walking the Old Roads- roads that Pounce had no wish to walk again. Disgusting, horrible roads with even worse two and four and many legs skittering about. But talk of the Old Roads and the past drifted to talk of the present, of other matters, and Pounce watched as Anders shifted closer to Fenris, bit by bit. He watched as Fenris leaned closer to Anders, so close that they nearly touched. He watched as their stories turned softer and vulnerable, and watched as they received with delicacy and care. Pounce watched. He listened. And in his own way, he smiled. He leaped into Fenris’ abandoned seat, curled up, and closed his eyes.

Perhaps they did not need such an aggressive push, after all.

-

“He’s always visiting you,” Anders remarked. Fenris looked up at Anders’ face, thin and tired and worn, but soft with a quiet contentment. Then he glanced over to the sleeping cat, who had stolen his chair and was sleeping the evening away. Every once in a while one of his little orange paws twitched. Did cats dream? Surely they did. Pounce did, at least, Fenris was quite certain of that. The cat was oddly perceptive, always underfoot just when he was wanted or needed.

“I had not realized the pleasure there is in having a cat around,” Fenris said slowly. “He is welcome anytime.”

“Kind of you. You do realize that I’ll be around more as well, don’t you? Cat and cat friend, we’re a package deal,” Anders joked, but Fenris was accustomed to Anders’ jokes by now. There was always a kernel of truth in them, and Fenris could hear the uncertainty under the teasing. He shrugged and shifted a little closer to the fire, a little closer to Anders.

“If it bothered me, I would tell you,” Fenris said.

“Oh. Well. Good to know,” Anders murmured.

Fenris basked in the silence. Outside the rain fell in vicious sheets. Thunder boomed, muffled by distance. Inside, the fire crackled. Logs popped and hissed, spraying hot sparks across the tile. Yet it was peaceful. If he was a brave man, he could cross that small space between them and lean against Anders. They could touch, he could be held, he could hold in return, and he could unburden himself of his odd thoughts and fluttering feelings. He could speak and make himself known, and there was a great comfort in the thought of being known. If he were a brave man he could do these things, but Fenris wasn’t brave. So he sat slightly out of reach and remained silent.

Anders broke the silence with an elongated “Sooooooo…” He looked over at Fenris expectantly. Fenris looked back. Anders wriggled his eyebrows up and down, and he was grinning- why?

“What?” Fenris asked, irritation stinging at him like a burr against his skin. Anders laughed and then he leaned against Fenris. He was warm from the fire and smelled of smoke and the herbal tea they drank earlier.

“Was going to ask how we should spend the evening together, but then I realized that sounded like something out of those saucy serials Varric writes,” Anders explained. “Well, writes and pretends he hasn’t.”

“I haven’t read those ones. I believe Varric burned my copy,” Fenris replied, and he was grateful that his voice remained steady. Anders cuddled next to him just like his _cat_ , and while Pounce was amenable to petting and snacks Fenris wasn’t certain of what Anders wanted- companionship, surely, and Fenris was grateful for that much. But he couldn’t help but be curious about what lay beyond the easy friendship they now shared.

“Oh, be glad. I still can’t get the images of quivering lips and trembling bosoms out of my mind,” Anders laughed. He shouldn’t look so handsome when he laughed, or sound so wonderful.

“Trembling? Was something… in those bosoms?” Fenris queried, which set off another round of laughter. Pride rose in him like the tide, lifting his spirits as Anders settled his head into Fenris’ lap and began to chatter about Varric’s failed romance serial. This was just how Circle Mages behaved, Fenris reminded himself. He saw the apostates, the runaways, those who were in hiding. They clung close together, they touched all the time, this was how they shared comfort and friendship. It didn’t mean anything more, no matter what he wondered and wished.

“Varric can write drama, but keep the man away from erotica and romance!” Anders complained. “Even I know it’s terrible, and I don’t have a romantic bone in my body!”

“Truly?” Fenris asked softly. He absently picked at a few strands of Anders’ now dry hair, weaving them together in small braids.

“No, not at all. Romance is dead in Circles, if it ever lived in the first place. You take what you can get. And Wardens? Maker’s Balls, it’s hard to be romantic when you’re getting sent off to your death every other day,” Anders sounded more than a little peeved, and his exasperation brought a smile to Fenris’ face. “And even then! Even then I understand romance.”

“Oh, do you?” Fenris couldn’t help the amusement that crept into his query. He twisted Anders’ hair in his fingers, then let the strands fall through the gaps like water.

“Of course!” Anders declared. “I’m no expert, but I’m a sight better than Varric!”

Fenris sighed. Anders’ fond, exasperated grin made his heart feel full. He shouldn’t feel this way. He should be content with friendship. His friendship with Anders was new and untested. It was something to be prized. Fenris should not want for more, and yet- well, somehow, between the arguments and conversation and Pounce’s visits smoothing over their more awkward interactions, Fenris found himself entranced by the contradictions that made up Anders.

“As charming as Varric Tethras is- and he is, Anders, it is one of the more irritating aspects of the man,” Fenris said sternly when Anders opened his mouth to argue. “I was saying, as charming as he is, romance is not always about charm.”

“Really now?” Anders asked cheekily.

“Not everyone who is charming can be romantic. Or romance someone. And sometimes romance blossoms in unexpected ways between unexpected people,” Fenris explained. It felt too close to speaking a truth that he wished to keep to himself, but the words fell out of his mouth regardless.

“Hmmm,” Anders hummed, and his golden brown eyes looked up at Fenris with an unnerving perceptiveness. He looked at him as if he could unlock the secrets of Fenris’ heart with one look, and in that moment Fenris believed that Anders absolutely had that power.

“It is only an observation,” Fenris said defensively. He said too much, hadn't he? Anders was still looking at him, looking at him and seeing him clearly, and there was nowhere for Fenris to hide. Fenris turned his head and glared into the fireplace until his eyes burned from the light.

“Fenris,” Anders said softly. “Will you look at me?”

And because his voice was gentle, because he sounded kind, because it was Anders and Fenris trusted him, Fenris looked down at Anders. And Anders… he was smiling. He was smiling, and something soft and kind and _wonderful_ shone in his eyes. He lifted himself up on his elbows, then twisted around until he was kneeling in front of Fenris.

“Pounce likes you,” Anders murmured. “He has a very good sense about people, and he’s never led me wrong.” With that statement, he pushed himself forward and pressed his mouth against Fenris’. It was awkward, too hard and messy, and for a moment Fenris was paralyzed from shock. Then Anders sighed, and he was warm and sweet with just enough bite to still be Anders. Anders cupped his cheek with a warm hand and rubbed the pad of his thumb against his cheekbone, and Fenris found that he could move again, and he pushed back, returned the kiss, nipped and chased Anders’ kisses. Fenris drank in Anders like he was a fine wine, savoring the moment and hoping it would never end.

“Not romantic at all,” Fenris teased as he pulled away, and Anders laughed as he rose up and shifted until he tucked himself against Fenris and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

“No. My cat did the matchmaking and half of the wooing for me,” he confessed as he rested his head against Fenris’ shoulder. “But I can’t complain. His taste is impeccable.”

The two men enjoyed each other’s company by the fire, whispering sweet words and laughing softly between exploratory kisses. Neither man noticed the way Pounce opened one golden eye to observe them. They did not notice the sly cat-grin on his face, and they did not notice the way he fell asleep. Pounce’s sleep was the sleep of a cat satisfied that his work was done and done well.

Two-legs would always need the help of a cat, Pounce thought as he drifted into slumber, even if all they needed was a gentle (or not so gentle) nudge forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's much later than I intended it to be, but this story is finally finished! Thanks for reading!


End file.
